Wands and Fireguns
by Tremendously Sassy
Summary: Wool's orphanage- the blasted end of the skrewt. A world set in 1938, where there's a big chance you'll die of chickenpox, end up without a career or join the military forces! But that doesn't count for our female protagonist, Patsy Walters. Stuck in a house of misfits, life full ahead of her, what could possibly go wrong? I'll give you a hint: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Warning: cursing
1. Chapter 1

Tap.

Tap.

The metallic bed made a long and high-pierced screetch as I turned my body. I always tried to ignore the sound, but no matter how hard I tried, it would always just be… there.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

For christ' sake! With a long sigh, I drew the single blanket of my possesions of off me. In the darkness I tried to squint my eyes to adjust, however that wouldn't help as my only source of light was a dark window, consumed by the night. My oh so lovely quarters consisted of nothing but a scrawny wooden chair, a angular table to match it's glamorous ambience, the old newspaper I've found in a bin last summer that I've sticked to the blank, greying walls, some neighbours in the walls and airventing system, nasty little beasts! Who too, destroyed my nightrest. And believe me, sleeping in this house of misfits, is a hard job in the first place!

Every single day there's the same routine over and over again. Little Mary get's picked on by either Edmund or Joffrey. Big snouted Emilie always, and I mean literally every chance she gets in this unfortunate life, tells on the other children. Then there'll either be a fight between Rick and Jane, who seem to keep arguing about the amount of books they're allowed to read, or Thomas and Rikkard, those two bubboons miscommunicate, a lot, which either ends in fights about the most mundane topics. I have to give it to Rikkard, I too, would get irritated if someone tries to eat soup with a fork! There's not a single excuse I could come up with for that to mishappen. Even if the amount of spoons is rather scrawny, you could just wait your turn patiently and clean the damn spoon from another child! Sometimes I wonder if Thomas even owns a set of brains or if the bookeyman scooped out those organs while he slept. Would be a fantastic new adventure to found out, wouldn't it?

Tap.

Tap.

But that was about it. Wool's Orphanage wasn't exactly the hot new place everyone longed to be, it's where everyone despised to be. From the looks they give you on the streets, to the sound of hurrying leather shoes on the pavement, trying to get as far away from the…oh no the horror…orphans! They might carry contagious diseases or infiltrate your mind with their parentless upbringing. Your life was simply already chosen for you, I didn't even have any say in this!

Tap.

But to be ungrateful was simply time-wasting. I've done it, pouting for days; even the matron Mrs Cole couldn't get me out of my little shoe-box room. To me, she was just a narcisstic middle-aged woman who lived off the money she got from the government for taking us little ol' orphans in. So yes, as in the books that I've read about guardian angels and the holy spirit, Mrs. Cole truely, served as an angel from another planet..perhaps Mars? What if, Mrs Cole was an alien? Would she just wait till we're all ripe and ready to abduct like cattle in a ranch? Believe it or not, she did act simply strange around suppertime- every evening she would lock herself up in that place she calls her office, not coming out for hours, but when she did, she couldn't even stand properly. That should give suspicious behaviour about being a foreign alien, doesn't it? One time, when Mrs Cole was too absorbed in herself, I took a little peak in that nest of hers. Come to think of it, it's a weird habit to collect empty bottles. But literally, dozens of empty bottles, just standing for show? I refuse to believe so! Who knows. Perhaps Mrs Cole has a weird collectors fetish but for now, I'm still cautious.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

And then there's next-door Eric. Grows a interesting hunchback, sleepless through nights; I remember the hours of tantrums when he was around the age of five. For the love of god.. some people need to sort out their priorities. I mean, I get! You're an abandoned little boy whoms parents decided to throw you away like a pack of Boston Baked Beans.. and everyday you keep wondering, if that 'chicken pox free' family will take you into their home. But Eric, he was as I would like to call it: a HOC. _Hopeless Orphan Case_. HOC's were children that either wanted it too badly, weren't able to praise the expectations; for some cases, that meant they weren't a pleasing sight to look at. HOC's were the type of children that seemed invisible to the couples eyes, they were the kids that would be stuck in this building, as they've been their whole life! Until we turn eighteen of course… then they just throw us out.

Tap.

Tap.

Coming to a discicison, I decided that sulking on my rock-hard bed wouldn't grant me a ticket to that place 'up there'. Turning the cold door-knob of my elite quarters, I grabbed the cloth we were allowed to use as towels with me. Oh! The privileges a girl, eleven years of age was given. The door slammed loudly behind me. Starteld from the echoing sound through the cold and angular corridor, I felt stupid only doing it. _Calm down, Pat,_ I told myself. _You're just going to walk to the lavatory._ This didn't exactly make me feel better, since I made up silly theories about the bookeyman that visits orphanages in the middle of the night! There was a total of fifty percent chance I'd die tonight:

1\. My theories about the lost brains of Thomas Squire actually turning out to be true, and there's a monster, hungry for more intelligent, developed brains pursuing me.

2\. Mrs Cole could've started abducting children from their rooms. In search for her precious empty bottles! We don't know what we're dealing with…

3\. The factory workers from down the alley forming an angry horde, breaking into houses, in search for pearls and silver!

4\. I might even just trip down the staircase whilst travelling to the only, single bathroom permitted to use in this building. It is bloody dark out here!

But since I could survive for eleven years straight, I, Patsy Walters, should be able to make it down the staircase, into the ice-cold shower, and not die. With that thought I crossed my arms, trying to create a pool of warmth in the brisky, cold march air. Being soaked up in my thoughts prevented me from clothing myself properly… _Rats!_

Flickering. Every single lamp seemed to flicker in this building. I rolled my eyes as I left the switch off, walking over the cold-tiled and now, dark bathroom floor. There was a solitary small window at the height of a showerhead, so at least, I could watch as I bumped my head into something, rather than do it blindly. The lavatories were spacious, only quite blank and contrasting nicely with the whole exterior of the orphanage. Cold. Hard. Looks more like a asylum than orphanage kind-off-thing. Well..that sums it up adequately.

 _Pling!_

I froze. For one, I hadn't thought to be intruded by anyone around four am! Did you ever hear the saying 'Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it?' I perfectly understood the wisdom of this saying one second later. I whirled- clutching the cloth I brought with me, desperately trying to cover my body. Turns out my fears were disappointed…

There, in the darkness of the night I couldn't make much out of the black figure. But the eyes, dark pools of depth, where you could easily be hypnotized from, were as familliar as Eric Whalley's hunchback was. Hard. That's what he looked like, erect as a rod of iron. I wanted to scream bloody murder, chase him away with the high-pierced vocals of my throat, only my mouth experienced a sudden, inexplicable lack of saliva.

I felt like screaming 'I am not going to die! I am going to live! Take that you bookeyman!' But those thoughts were remedied as the piercing, ice cold glare of _Tom Riddle_ brought me back to reality.

He stared at me. And stared. And stared.

Half a minute.

An entire minute.

After two minutes, I was getting fidgety. _Perhaps I am going to die tonight._

 **My dear wizards, witches and HOC's,**

 **Well, how did you like this introduction of our OC, Patsy Walters?**

 **If you enjoyed reading this chapter, I'll be sure to continue this fanfic, that's a promise!**

 **And a Lannister always pays his debts.**

 **I haven't decided on a day yet for my weekly updates, perhaps you guys have any ideas?**

 **Yours Truly,**

 **Lady Dominique. (Chieftain of the HOC's clan)**


	2. Chapter 2

'Get out.'

My mouth dropped open. I had expected him be angry. Boiling mad, even. Perhaps the lightning saved myself from the horror onto his chiselled face. But there he was, as cool as a cucumber. Throwing commands like he was the queen of England!

A mental image popped into my head of mister get-out-of-my-sight Riddle in a frilly off-the-shoulders ball gown with a big hoop skirt and a paper fan in his hand. I had to work hard to keep from laughing. His tone told me that wouldn't have been a good idea. He didn't seem the person who appreciated mirth, to put it mildly.

So instead of laughing at him, I did the next best thing; keeping my ground. I averted my eyes onto the open doorway, the sound of the cold wind rang through the corridor. _Outside? Did a brick fall onto his head or something?_ That he was lucky to be made out of granite didn't also count for the rest of the population of London. It was bloody Antarctica outside! Or at least, as I've heard a pedestrian complain about the siberian climate changes in the city. I shuddered slightly, only thinking about it made my hairs stand straight up.

 _Be sensible_ , I chided myself. _A moment ago you were worried about getting killed by a figurative monster. Now you've been proven wrong. Problem solved._

'Well?' he said, after two or three seconds of silence. 'I believe I already told you to get out.'

A pair of dark cold eyes were still directed my way, yanking me out of my rambunctious thoughts. I tried to look elsewhere, but that was harder than I thought. The only light that emerged from outside, now entirely lit up the face that I was trying to avoid. Damn window! Blast the moon and her lunar cycle!

'Actually, no,' I blurted out, my voice coming out sharper than I had intended. 'I was here first!'

'I can see that,' A few seconds of hesitation were implanted in the awkward silence. Then: 'Walters… was it?'

My eyes grew wider. I was holding a bloody cloth to cover my body, and he wanted to hold a tea-party after scaring the death out of me!? The nerve of him! A source of blood rose to my cheeks. I was now only beginning to realise that I was practically naked. _Naked! Infront of the other sex!_ If our father heard of this these sinfull actions, I would have to pray for forgiveness until I was on the brink of death. Like thirty. _Thirty!_

Unconciously I held the cloth like my life depended on it. And in some words, it did.

'Why haven't you left yet!?'

He regarded me with a raised eyebrow. 'I could ask you the same question.'

'Well,' I felt more heat rising to my cheeks, if that was physically possible. I looked down at myself, trying to implicate I'm kind of under-dressed. 'I uh… I mean, the amount of fabrics covering my body is preventing me from doing so.'

To my surprise I saw him not where he had been a moment ago. He had re-treated a few steps. The ice had gone out of his eyes, and he was standing in a slightly awkward position, his hands tugged into the pockets of his trousers as if he didn't know what to do with them.

'Um… here,' he muttered. Pulling one of his hands out of the pocket, he grabbed something that had been lying onto the floor, unfortunately I couldn't make out what the object was. He stepped forward. I stepped back.

'Why were you here in the first place? It's the middle of the night!' One point for miss know-it-all! I bet he could make out the time, he wasn't _that_ daft. Okay. Perhaps he was a little smarter than that. Just a tiny little bit. _Very tiny!_ Chauvinists hadn't had a high capacity of braincells in their brains, which included every single male on the planet. If I could, I would walk over to the palace of Westminster and spray-paint with big words onto the doors: 'Feminism forever!' Only Mrs Cole wouldn't let us roam the city around freely. I'd have to sneak out.. but if I left this house of misfits, I am very sure the bobbies would get their hands onto me in no time. And my legs don't exactly run like an ascot horse…

To my surprise, I took in Tom Riddle holding out my nightdress towards me. His mouth formed an irritated scowl on his face, as I, had not yet taken it from him.

I should have been scared of him. Cowering in a corner, or fleeing the lavatories in a whip! The stories about Riddle, which ironically himself was a riddle too, lacked the words: 'courageous' and 'gritty' not for nothing. After little Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop stopped talking, Rikkard swore _he_ had something to do with it. And I did not try to shove this thought aside and see the bright side of life, as our teacher Mr Meisner insists, because I wasn't entirely sure if Tom Riddle even owned one.

'If you are concerned about my intentions, do not worry. I have no desire to ruin a girl's reputation, especially the reputation of a "Lady" who is not right in the head.'

If I had the right mind-set at the moment, I would have made a comment about female equality and that ruing others' lives wasn't something that should be on your bucket list. Only I didn't. I was still too busy processing the 'not-right-in-the-head' comment. _Not right in the head?_ Why? Because I take showers in the middle of the night? Because I wanted a say in the government of my country?

 _I'll give him not right in the head!_

'Do you think Mrs Cole won't throw you out? After this whole "epidemic" comes out?' Okay. That was a little low, I admit it! But if Tom Riddle was going to threaten me out of my moment of peace, wasn't I allowed to use the same ingredients?

His eyes, having perused line after line on the tiled flooring, froze. Then they snapped up to me. His face seemed not quite as expressionless as before. Silence hovered over the two of us, thick and heavy.

Finally he said: 'She won't.'

I arched my brows, since every time I tried to use one, the other one lifts up too. 'How can you be so sure about that?'

'Because if you don't fancy learning how to swim face down in the Thames tonight, you're not telling _anyone._ Not a living soul.'

All right… that answered my question pretty succinctly. My whole body felt cold all of the sudden, and not just because I wasn't wearing any clothes. Darn! Was he being serious?

I looked into his eyes.

Yes, he was. Absolutely serious.

'You… you wouldn't dare!' I managed to whisper.

'Really?' Raising his hand, he counted dispassionately. 'Firstly, nobody knows what really happend except for you. The prove that this has occurred, does _not_ exist.'

His lips didn't curve into a derisive smile, but even without that I could hear the cold venom he put into that sentence.

He extended a second finger. 'Secondly, I have very discreet-' It seemed as if he was going to say something else, but changed his mind at the last moment. '…associates. It would be a marvel if your body was even found.'

Another finger. He caught my gaze with his, and held it. 'Thirdly, look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me again I would not dare to get rid of you.'

Well, at least now I knew one thing. The rumors about the cause of Benson and Bishop's silence, was now confirmed in my mind. He had done it. He didn't spoke like someone who seemed to have trouble saying these words to someone, no, he was something else entirely.

'Now as I said before,' He said in a voice so low I almost didn't catch it, 'get out! Last chance, Walters.'

'I…I…' Dammit, what was happening to me? I could feel my whole body beginning to shake, and my eyes felt strange. They felt as if they were… wet. Oh no! No, no, no and no again! I was not going to cry like some little girl! Not in front of him. Not now. I was going to be brave and prove to him that I was just as good as he was and… and…

I started to cry.

I admit it, all right? I started to cry.

'I.. I can't,' I sniffled, lowering my head and searching desperately for my nightgown. But they weren't next to me anymore, no, they were still in the hands of the boy infront of me. Hurriedly, I tried to wipe away the tears with my arm before he could see them. 'I'm not even dressed!'

I blinked up at him, breathing heavily. What was he going to do now?

My dress was thrown into my pretty little face, answering my question immediately. 'Get on with it then!'

I nearly choked.

'Err… Tom?'

A snarl escaped his lips. 'What is it now?'

'Um… I'm a girl.'

His gaze travelled up and down my figure, taking in the brown mob of hair that ended on top of my shoulders and various parts of my anatomy pushed together as I tried to conceil myself.

'The fact is rather hard to overlook. Your point?'

I bit my bottom-lip. Tyring very hard not to burst out laughing. 'I wanted to ask- have you been paying attention during any of our classes?'

'No. I detest Mr Meisner. Ever since I've figured out half the material they teach us is something I already knew. I've been far too busy with other business, anyway. Why?'

'Because you seem a bit behind on human anatomy. You see... I told you that I'm female. And well, I know you think different of this matter, Tom, but I think you'll might disagree once I let this towel drop down.'

There was a loud snap. When I looked, I saw that Tom was holding a bar of soap which now had been snapped in half under the sudden pressure of his fingers.

'Then,' he said in a very measured, calm voice, 'please do _not_ do it here.'

I nodded. 'That's what I thought.'

'Why don't you just do it somewhere else, then?' Tom Riddle's voice wasn't quite as calm and collected as usual anymore. My, my. Was the great Tom Riddle at a loss? I had to hide my smirk.

'Well, Tom, I checked, but to prevent showing god's creations to rest of the orphanage, there's only one solution.'

'I can see your point.'

I cleared my throat. And again.

'Do you have a cough, Walters?' He asked uninterested.

I made an impolite gesture towards the boy down the sinks, as I grabbed my dress up from the floor. ' _Well what are you waiting for?_ Turn around!'

His eyes looked up sharply, reflecting through the mirrors. 'Be quick about it.' he muttered coldly, and finally, turned his back to me.

'I shall do my very best,' I answered sardonically.

I had just reached the last button of my dress when out of the corridor, on the opposite side of the children's rooms, stepped a figure into the bathroom I remembered all too well: Martha, the orphanage worker stopped straight in her tracks at the sight that was revealed. Staring at Tom, and then at me, her mouth stood agape in shock.

Oh, and did I happen to mention she hadn't known anything about my tonight's leaving, until now?

Blast, blast, blast!

 **My dear wizards, witches and night-breakers,**

 **What a situation Pat has worked herself into… :_)**

 **I hope you are exited for the upcoming chapters, as much as I enjoyed writing them!**

 **My apologies for not updating in the earlier appointed time, I simply hadn't had my mind focused on writing at the moment.**

 **But I will be back for more!**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique.**


	3. Chapter 3

I patiently waited for anyone to break the silence, and too, to grant Martha a little time to process whatever's been brimming through her head. Grown ups, as they called themselves, didn't reason situations as I personally would, nor did the rest of his house. Aside from the caring and nursing nature of these women, I for one did not know the secrets behind their choices of action. But did I want to know?

My face formed a distateful grimace. _Oh God no._

'-Children! What are ye doing up this oor? Ye baith shuid be an yer beds!' Martha said. Or to be precise, she didn't say it. She wailed it. Rather a curious way to say hello but, shrugging, I opened my mouth to respond with an innocent tale about how I was sleepwalking again, when I heard another voice, which clearly wasn't mine.

'Psht!'

Or rather, not the voice disturbed me – but the fact that it was a _man_ 's voice. Definitely not Tom Riddle! And some other kid? They wouldn't be nearly as mad to vent the corridors at the brink of sunrise. Who in the God's name…

'Psht! I'm here, my love.'

 _My love?_ Now things were getting a bit thick! My eyes shot to my right, hearing a noise that sounded like a strangled lit up donkey. Judging by the supressed twitching corners of Tom Riddle's mouth, I weighed the boy found this endeavor quite entertaining, you'd almost say he was amused by it. But let's not exaggerate over here, pigs will fly when that day arrives!

In the meantime, the chubby cheeks of our help had turned bright red. And for once I didn't need to be a 'grown up' to understand that sort of thing. It would be horrid to have someone pursue me while caling me 'love' and what not. _Poor Martha_.

'N-nivermind. Back tae bed! The baith o' ye.' she said in the best austere way possible, for the moment at least. Only she didn't seem to give it a second thought as she fled the lavatories. I probably would too, if I'be in her situation… And in the next moment I stopped in my tracks, because what I heard made me forget all about the man.

'I'm here! I'm here, ma love,' came the answer to the lover's call in the sweet, Scottish, innocent tones of our matron Martha.

My mouth dropped open.

 _I take back my sentiments,_ I grimaced.

* * *

'Bonk.'

'Bonk. Bonk.'

'Bonkerdie bonk bonk!'

'bon- ngghh!' I clasped my hand over Eric's mouth, giving the kid a pointed look that told him to shut-his-crackers otherwise the bowl full of greyish porridge that they called 'Breakfast' would might find itself somewhere down a particular hunchback. And I didn't fancy to wait for 6 more hours till lunch. My stomach seemed to growl in an agreeing manner, earning me another one of those I-told-you-so stares from Rick. Rikkard was approximately three months older and that made him think he was superior to me. _The braggart._ The table arrangements were quite simple. Every kid from your level was seated at the same long mahogany table, and we're not talking about IQ's and the difference between humane and inhumane. Simply the level of the building, and which in mine, sadly, lived a row full of children that were scrambled together from a pile of outcasts. Glancing my way over to the "other" table, I simpled couldn't help but sigh. There they were. The children that actually knew how to climb a rope ladder. The cherries on the pie, the haute de cuisine. Not that people indicatingly wanted to eat them.. I do not suppose cannibalism comes forth in Western Europe, perhaps something far away; like Persia.

These children were the ones that actually got adopted, the elité from the _first floor._ Our matron Mrs Cole would tour couples around it, as if we were the neighbours from down the block! And if we got really lucky, the customers lacked a set of brains and decided to venture upstairs. Which was rarely, _very_ rarely. We don't get couples around a lot these days, people seem to have big enough families already. And truth to be told, I don't suppose Mrs Cole is trying very hard to get rid of us… since the amount of money she gets from the government to provide food and bed for us makes her eyes gleam like she's won the price for best-actress-of-the-month award. And with her demeanor, she absolutely should have.

'Plate!'

'Hm?' I quickly turned my head to see Martha waiting with a outstretched hand, pushing a trolley full of nutritious breakfast that looked like it had been cooked in an open sewer. 'Oh!' Quickly I handed her my plate. With a thud she smacked the porridge onto it, giving it back to me. _Please keep it_. 'Thanks…'

'Don't keek sae sour missy! Ye shuid be thankful God is peepin' ower ye.' _Oh_ , _I wouldn't be here if he was._ Looking down at my plate, I heard a snicker coming from the other side of the breakfast table. And lunch, and dinner. The table I mean… we did get food three times a day of course.

'Isnt't breakfast to your likings, Pattie Snotters?' A very, very foul mouth commented as I just turned my head to see whom it was coming from. Billy arse eating Stubbs. Or as I thought of him, Billy _Snobbs._ His ego was too large for this room. Even London for all I care! Just because Billy's parents died when he was four and he inherited all their money, didn't give you full on permission to act like you went to a private school and rode around in an Austin Twenty-eight. Which of course, would've been way too dramatic since his parents were toy factory workers. But compared to the rest of us… he was rich.

'You can take your porridge and stick it where the sun doesn't shine!' I blurted out, looking down at my plate with heavy glower crossing my face.

'Pat!' Rikkard hissed from right across me.

'What!? He called me _that_ name again.'

'…Just watch out for… you know who.' He whispered the last part as if it was top secrecy. All of the sudden he looked down at his plate with a intense interest that he brought up from what? Neverland?

I heard a pair of heels clutter over the wooden flooring. (Which was way to expensive for our orphanage but had been seemingly more important than woolen clothing). And as if I could've seen it coming, the noise stopped right behind me. Bullocks!

'And where exactly does the sun not shine, my dear?'

I internally cringed if it had not been for the dramatic announcement of her presence. And I don't mean help-our-matron-is-an-alien-her, I meant the _Her._ Mrs. Wool. Or Mr Wool… I did not fancy to know about her nether regions when I still breathed!

Very shortly I saw some of my dignity fly by as I turned around 90 degrees and looked up at the woman with my interpretation of what people called 'smiling'. 'How about the sewers? A basement? Dracula's tomb… Hitler's super oppressive mansion-'

'Enough!'

I closed my mouth, slightly satisfied with my efforts of making her life a tiny bit more miserable than it already was. Which she of course did not appreciate.

Mrs Wool kneeled down before me. Like people do when they tell a kid one of their relatives died, or that they discovered a severe infection that wasn't curable. Like smallpox. I hoped none of those cases were accurate in this situation.

'Young lady,' she started. 'It is not proper for a young girl such as yourself to shout blatantly at other children- _especially_ not boys.'

What would she rather have me doing? _Whisper_ vulgar words in their ears!?

'I'm very sorry Mrs Wool, but I believe we've been economizing on that department. Mr Meisner doesn't school us with _proper_ education, yesterday, we had to grab a shovel and dig a hole in the dirt! He's getting old, i'm telling ya.'

'I'm very sure Mr Meisner meant this all for the greater good, Patricia.'

 _Double bullocks._

'Wait!-… _Patricia_?' Someone around the dining hall called out, seemingly finding this very funny.

If only I could get that shovel and poke Mrs Wool with it… _This was it. I was officially dead._

 **My dear witches and wizards**

 **What an announcement Mrs Wool made at breakfast… ;)**

 **Again, I do not wish to do this again but my severe apologies for not updating in a long while.**

 **This will all be going away, due to personal reasons I hadn't finished the chapter at all.**

 **I want you to know that this is kind of a filler, but I hoped I could entertain you enough!**

 **See you next Friday.**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique.**


	4. Chapter 4

'Order! I will have order!' Mrs Wool barked out as she clapped her hands together, but no avail. The entire platoon shattered out in laughter. Kids clutched their stomachs- stamping their fists and smacking their hands onto the tables.

I was trapped. My eyes shot towards Rikkard, whom himself seemingly couldn't surpress the twitchings of his lips. Panic shot through me as I helplessly eyed everyone that had the urge to stand up and bawl out.

'Lady Patricia, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance!'

'Oh,oh! Princess Patricia of the kingdom of stupidity!'

'Fat-head of the year!'

'-She's a real eager beaver for old geezers!'

'-So, do we call her Patsy or Patricia?' Eric. Sweet, stupid, little Eric seemed as oblivious as ever- Thomas smacked him onto his 'back-bulge', smiling nervously. You had to really know the hunchback to understand he wasn't a smart-alecky but really, undoubtedly…most assuredly… zonked.

'EVERYONE, OUT. OUT. OUT!' Mrs Wool saw flaming red as she silenced the entire orphanage- all of their surprised faces directed at the pompous mountain. 'This. This _madness_ has gone far enough!'

 _Oh yes it had,_ I wasn't very keen on being called stupid! The degrading of women! Even if I wasn't very educated, I read a lot of books about the Hungarian war in the public library. _That_ … and I'd take the chance of free time to explore the embroidered and leathered handbags and satchels of our gullible contributors - and _not_ to deprive anyone of their coins. Over my bescumbered toes! A solid piece of chocolate or toffee would still my cravings quite succintly. Not that I'd admit to anyone of these mischievous sins… I'd get send to the convent! It's not _my_ fault they don't feed us properly. Perhaps Mrs Cole should've invested in chocolate bars rather than dozens of empty bottles. However, I wasn't the only one who done it.

No, I was very much surrounded by thieves and orphans.

 _Or perhaps just one particular orphan._

No, Patsy! Get him out of there! Not in your head! _Anything_ but your head. Well technically he wasn't _inside_ of my head, but Tom Riddle had an unnerving way of making it feel just that.

The breakfast hall was emptying itself as kids threw glares towards me with destructive complaints and wishes to see me choke whilst playing leapfrog in the courtyard. For some audiences that would've been no problem- however, as I was just a _lady,_ with no special certifications in martial arts, it would be a ginormous problem. Humongous. Grand.

'Come on-' I patted Eric onto his arm and signalled for him to join the angry mob of orphans outside. He seemed to be busy with trying to work away his porridge- couldn't blame him. I tried to sneak away behind Eric's hunchback in hopes that Mrs Wool wouldn't see me- I didn't have the strength to deal with her lectures.

I was almost there. I could see the exit already... just a few more steps until…

 _Ha! Take that you pompous melon!_

As I got outside of the doors and did my imaginairy victory dance, I started walking until I realised someone grabbed my collar and held me back. With a tug I was back into the breakfast hall, already fearing what would be coming next.

As the last children left the hall, Mrs Wool directed herself towards me with a irriated look. _Me._ Me? What? I didn't do _nothing_. This is simply unfair!

Standing in a cross-armed stance, the towering hawk looked as if she had grown a second head. 'Patricia Walters! Have you gotten _any_ idea how much of a row you have started?'

'It's Patsy.' I corrected and smiled sheepishly. Perhaps my hopes were getting too high after all. 'I'm sorry but I didn't start it-'

'Sit down Miss Walters-'

'But I-'

'Sit. Down.'

As fast as I could, I took my seat on the bench behind me, mumbling a 'Yes m'am' with neglect. Mrs Wool started walking around, probably pondering what to do with me next whilst mumbling to herself in a frenzy. I began staring at the porridge on the table that suddenly didn't seem _that_ disgusting anymore… _If I could just have one bite._

'Patricia! If none of the children get breakfast, then you _especially_ don't either.' With a yank, the owner of this cramped building took away the bowl of porridge that somehow had found it's way into my hands.

'Manners, young lady. Manners.' She sneered, making the reaching for food impossible as she slided everything far enough away from me. Well…according to the breakfast regulations that are written down with the living rules of Wool's Orphanage, depriving me from my daily breakfast can be seen as starvation and should be reported towards the inspection for housings. However, this wasn't Kensington. They wouldn't even give us a glance due to the uproar around the world- however they hadn't paid attention at us since the 17th century.

House rules. The most important regulations to live together, it is said. And, in may orphanages under the legal existence by being fully licensed under the laws of the particular jurisdiction. There's the board of health, which is some right for children to visit a doctor. Law enforcement on criminal backgrounds, for employees. However, living under the jurisdictions in the East End of London, things went a little different. Such as:

\- In general, there are strict rules and a consitent schedule. Male and females are most likely separated, and there are rules for interaction between the sexes. _Ehem,_ we clearly have none of those.

\- Children may be required to stay in their rooms at night- any movements during the night should be signalled with an alarm. I quite remember my nights adventure downstairs wasn't being supervised. Unless you count the tomato with her secret nocturnal rendezvous.

\- Children that have a savety plan should have privileges for interaction with other children, especially older or younger children. Yes! I _should_ have a savety plan! But did that stop snobbs like Billy from pestering me? No. Not a single bit.

And the list goes on. I had peeked in the post once, where I had read some interesting feedback onto the quality of our orphanage. They were delighted to see such a 'welcoming' group, with the astounding guidance and care of our matron Mrs Cole.

 _Horse shit,_ it was. It wasn't for nothing that we had cleaning punishment's to make the first floor shine. Mrs Cole always wanted it to gleam till she'd see her reflextion, however I believe she hadn't seen herself in the mirror for decades. Under the eyes of Mrs Wool, Mrs Cole had been preforming unorthodox punishments for children who misbehaved. Or the ones she just didn't like already get a punishment by speaking out of turn. We had a special room with one window that looked over the coutryard, and once the children would be playing outside, you'd get to sit on a chair that ached your buttocks and Mrs Cole would leave you to the wolves. Well not _literal_ wolves. But the hungry and angry faces of the mob that would surround around the window was enough to crawl back into your belly button.

And after Mrs Wool was done lecturing me, she and the other witch discussed the most sufficient punishment for _my_ actions. Again, _I had done nothing_. Thus I ended up in the room of shame. With eyes staring into my soul, and the laughter that didn't seem to fade through the glass window but rather emphasise the sound. On top of that, nobody had gotten their breakfast this morning.

I was afraid they might steal pitchforks down the street and try to pinch my head onto a stick. _Or so it seemed._

I thought I must've fallen asleep to not hear any complaint or curse word fired back at me, but out of the blue, the noise had turned down. I smiled to myself with a tired complexion, the headache that grew finally started being the only noise that bonked through my ears. Who would be this saviour that granted me silence? Had God finally striken down every single child with a lightning bolt? I couldn't know as I nodded off towards dreamland. Dreaming about a Greek statue with the surprising likeness of one boy that stroken down the mob of farmers that were trying to spike me. The last thing I felt before darkness swallowed me up was a hand on top of my scalp, stroking gently.

 **Dear Witches and Wizards,**

 **How are my HOC's holding up this far?**

 **Writing takes it's time, as yes I haven't kept my promises of updating on regular basis,**

 **However, this I say; Wands and Fireguns won't ever be left behind.**

 **There is an entire plot written out about the book,**

 **Or should I say, books ;)**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique.**

Fat-Head: A stupid person

Old Geezers: An old man, mostly an unpleasant one.

Bescumbered: A nice way of saying discharge or dung upon.. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

'Get that girl!' The middle-aged, mustached man called out furiously, pointing towards me as I ran as fast as my legs could hold me. 'She's a thief!' he accused once again. By now, the entire public library had been made aware I stole a penny to buy something as simple and delicious as a sweet. Being chased by at least two blue bottles, each of them carrying swagger sticks that were seemingly more painful than being shot, me, _just_ a little girl of eleven years, had to run for a life out of lockup.

 _Blast you!,_ I glanced down at my growling stomach. _If you weren't so demanding we wouldn't be in this situation._

As the exit came nearer, my brain tried to solve this entire hubbub, looking for an answer. I panicked. There didn't seem to be anything I could use to barricade the bobbies that were trying to skin me alive.

Suddenly, out of an aisle of bookshelves, a librarian pushed a trolley with a mountain of books piled on top of each other. _Eureka!_

'Stop her!' one of the men shouted after me.

With a forceful kick, I pushed the trolley to the ground. As the books clattered on the marbel tiles, I made my exit out of the library.

'Sorry!' I shouted after me, feeling sorry for whomever had to clean that mess up. My head shot to my left, standing on the steps of the library, seeing a small dingy alleyway next to the bakery. On my right, there was a large amount of schoolchildren outside, looking at the architecture of the metropole of London. The alleyway it was _._

With a jump, I caught my landing onto the pavelled ground with my own hands. _Argh!_ As I caught my breath of running from aisle to aisle, I glanced down at the stinging red and swollen hands. Leaning against the wall, I cocked my head to the left as I heard the footsteps of the men storming out of the majestic white building.

 _Please go right. Please._

A pedestrian stopped in his tracks as his eyes travelled from me and up towards the duo of men that seemed to search and stop children that were walking around the streets. With his mustache and peaky cap, he looked like the least of my worries. Oh boy was I wrong…

'Officer! Ye'r looking for a girl? Got one righ' here!' pointing at me energetically, I stood up quickly and darted in the dark alleyway that had been filled with smoke of the air vent shafts of the bakery. I made a mental note never to judge anyone by their looks, because looks could be deceiving. _Me_ of all people should've known that. Sometimes I wanted to slap myself for being so dense.

As I kept running, I heard the barking sound of a couple of dogs that seemed to have been released after me. Fear lept into my stomach as I began to run a little harder than I did before…

I admit it. I was afraid of large dogs that would bite me or try to tear me to bits of flesh- And I had few good reasons to be afraid. I remember very few, but the night my father had dropped me off at the orphanage, I was bitten by a dog. And _I have the scars to prove it!_

Of course that experience penetrated my mind every time I heard barking, and it got to severe cases where I would run away from even the littlest terriers. Course no one knew of this- It was rather embarassing. Dogs weren't very nice to me in general- most dogs down East End lived on the streets and were always searching for food. And I did not want to become an eight course meal with an apple down my throat.

Lost at the dead-end street, I panicked and turned around, looking for any kind of escape. _Any kind,_ I bid towards the gods. Perhaps Hephaestus could sculpt me a wall to protect me from the men that were trying to lock me up!?

In retrospective he didn't seem a busy god.. in comparison to the thousands of people calling upon help from Jezus when they were in distraught.

Meanwhile the dogs chasing me, seemed to have caught up on me as they darted around the corner of the smoked alleyway. Blast! Blast! Blast!

What was it again what the high man 'up there' always said? 'Thou shall steal and'-' or maybe it was _not_ to steal?

Pressed against the stone wall, I closed my eyes tightly and started to breathe heavily _._ Perhaps if I wished hard enough, they'd vanish.

 _Please,_ I chided. _Just drop me off at the next street for all I care!_ The two voices of the policemen shouted orders for the dogs to lay off of me- apparently they thought it 'impolite' to slice up a little girl.

I deducted from the cuffs around my pulses that even grecian gods didn't lend any help towards stealing orphans.

'Yer comin' with us, girlie.'

'Always these filthy _rats,_ got a cart full of 'em, Jerry." Mister mustache 1 spoke to mustache number 2.

'Is wrong for ye to nick-' the policeman Jerry told me with his fingers pointed at my face that showed several signs of trepidation. The dogs that lept before me weren't ceasing their growls any less than before- I just hoped this once they would find me too 'unappetising'. What were they going to do with me anyway? If I ended up in a cell, Mrs Cole would never ever bail me out! I would become a _juvenile_ orphan…

That was the worst of the worst!  
Well, second to homeless orphans eaten up by the boogeyman.

'-Each 'n every day another one of 'em, we trained police forces Jerry. We should be out with 'em big guys! Solving homocides and tracking up one of 'em pretty dames. Not playing babysitter-' mustache 1 complained once again with a gruff voice towards bobby Jerry. I started to feel a little bit irritated as they kept complaining about their lack of dutiful tasks.

'Are you even _real_ policemen?'

'You shut up!' getting a hand pressed in my neck, I let out a groan as Jerry the cruel started to walk a little faster than before, and me struggling to walk with my hands tied behind my back kept falling on the street at least two or three times.

With bloodied, scraped knees and sweat dripping down my face, I sat in the backseat of their Wolseley. Beforehand I sadly had to clear my pockets as I was waiting for them to find their bloody car keys, making this escapade all for nothing. The longer I spent time with these two, I began to understand bit by bit why their employer refused to send them out towards the more _advanced_ crimescenes. In all fairness, anyone taller than five feet and a little stamina could have caught up to me.

* * *

At the policestation, I obediently waited upon a wooden stool for the blue coats to come back and share the disastrous news. I feared the worst; they'd lock me up for three nights on headquarters and send me off to a convent somewhere far away in the mountains of Switzerland. Course I knew, that as a child they hadn't had the audacity to throw me in prison… yet. Or even worse, they'd strip me from my clothing and sentence me to death by execution!

 _Ain't that a bit medieval, Patsy?_

Just as I readied myself to take on the mind battle, the door opened of the office that I had been thrown in to wait out my sentence. First came the head of tweedle dee, followed by tweedle dum with two mugs of what I deciphered as coffee.

As they sat down, pulling the stools on the other side of the desk with a screetching sound over the wooden floor, the policeman I knew as Jerry the terrible cleared his voice and looked at me with a serious sigh.

'Alrigh' there, Missy?'

'I'm ready-' I sighed, putting down my hands before them, of which the cuffs had been taken off when I entered the room. 'You can lock me up in a cel- I won't fight anymore, I swear.'

Both of the men gave each other a double take when I had offered myself up to live out somewhere between the nuns and fields filled with cows and goats. I understood, I ran half a marathon to escape their clutches from getting me locked up. Only I had enough time to contemplate the idea of leaving Wool's orphanage- if I was the one to leave those suckers behind I'd put on my Sunday dress and be shipped off across the English channel. The men however, weren't looking at each other out of surprise. First mustache number 1 cracked out in laughter, followed by bobby Jerry who clutched his beer-belly that almost jumped out of his uniform. I withdrew my hands as the laughter echoed throughout the room- were they making fun of me?

'Oh no, Girlie.' Mustache number 1 gasped, wiping away any remnants of leakage from his eyes. 'We ain't gonna punish people for things like that! A girl stealing a penny? We migh' as well punish every pigeon taking a shit on the pavement, and then we'd be busy till kingdom come. Why, only the other day I met a man in the pub tryin' to tell me we're all gonna fight 'n war next year! Clearly off his rocker, the chap. I did no' even reprimand 'em.'

'I'm not going to be sent off to a convent?' I frowned, a little offended. I had expected to be shipped off, or at least locked up behind bars for _one_ day. But this?

Jerry the monsterous chuckled once more, shaking his head. 'Nay. We wouldn't want to bother a judge with this, he'd fine us for wasting time. Now what's yer name, Missy?' Propping up a pen in his right hand that he pulled out of his maroon jacket, the bobby took a sip of his coffee. I noticed the rim of his mustache being drowned into the hot liquid- with a distasteful grimace I answered automatically;

'Patsy Walters.'

His eyes double crossed my features, trying to see if I was lying or not. With a shrug, the bobby wrote down the digits on a custom paper form. 'Alrigh', let's see. And your parents' names are?'

'I don't know.'

Mister mustache number 1 arched an eyebrow, judging me from the dirt on my collar and dress towards the cuts and bruises that were visible. 'Yer not one of them street rats, are ye?'

'No!' I blurted out, worried they might actually do something after all. 'I'm an orphan.'

'Ain't that the same?' Tweedle dum whispered towards Jerry the unforgiveable- who gave his colleage a heavy shouldered shrug. 'Arigh', 'n tell me Missy, which orphanage hosts thiefs and pickpocketers?'

I smirked, decisively so ruining the name of my orphanage- however, I didn't have any other option did I? I'm sure Mrs Wool would understand the circumstances when she stood in my place and was to be interrogated…

'Wool's- down East End.'

'Ah.' The men nodded, all of the sudden understanding the situation. _Wow, East End really did have a bad reputation._

Standing up, the keys jingled in the rhythm of mustache's movement. 'Well Patricia, since ye've got no parents to pick ye up- it would be our duty to bring ye back to yer orphanage.' He said in a stern and annoyingly fatherly manner. Guiding me out of the policestation, both of the bobbies escorted me inside of the 'ol Wolseley, which probably still had my bloodstains printed on the backseat.

* * *

As they drove me inside of their policecar through the rows and rows of factory workers' houses, the realisation began to sink in. I wasn't sure what Mrs Cole had made out of my afternoon absence. She might not even have noticed it. With all of the children in the building, and ninety per cent of her brain cells occupied with scrambling up every penny she could, she sometimes forgot one or another of her orphans. Sometimes I got lucky whilst I ventured towards the library- If I was really lucky, that had been the case this evening. At least she hadn't run haywire and contacted the police, that would've earned me a year of cleaning duty.

As we got closer I heard the noise of children playing- otherwise known as throwing rocks at the police that were interrogating their 'domain'. I chuckled, waving proudly at the strange children that were probably underfed and homeless.

'Adieu!'

Jerry, the underrated policeman turned around, giving me one of those looks that told me to quiet down and said; 'Ye really talk much for a girlie, ye know?'

 _For a girl? Chauvinistic arseholes!_ I was offended- give and take but the car stopped and my focus slowly turned towards the building that hovered over a brick courtyard. 'Kay, Throw 'er out before we get shot down Jerry-'

We were here. The bobby escorted me out of the black and white Wolseley, obviously wanting to make sure he would be rid of the orphan, now that she was out of cuffs and could start running off into another dark alley or shout protests to her nonexistent friends to attack the blue coats. With a wary look- the man patted my shoulder sternly. 'Alrigh', I really hope this will be a lesson to ye.'

'Yes it will,' I assured him, adding to myself, too quietly for him to hear as he returned to the car: 'I'll make sure not to get caught next time.'

As I looked ahead of me, heads popped out of the windows as everyone seemed to have taken notion of the police car dropping me off. Including a heavily glowering woman on the front porch- tapping her heels impatiently as I stood struck before the gates of the greying orphanage.

 _Mrs Cole_.

 **Well well well…**

 **My dear witches and wizards, thieves and orphans,**

 **Apparently Mrs Cole wasn't counting her empty bottles this time ;)**

 **I'm sorry that the update took a while, however I've decided to update on my tempo.**

 **Sorry to those whom wished for an earlier update,**

 **The tremendous weight of making every word be perfect, whilst making exams was well, got up to me.**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique, Chief of the hundred ways to name an officer.**


	6. Chapter 6

Afraid of the storm that would escape from the mouth of my matron, I clutched the hems of my skirt a little tighter as I slowly walked up the steps towards the doorway. The icy glare that the hawk shoot at me could pin me down and freeze me into an ice sculpture, however I was Patsy Walters. I could just deny I was- Nah that's not a good idea, they saw the car. Maybe with a lot of made up excuses, the future would be brighter than it seemed. Yes, that's what I was going to do.

'Young lady, you come inside right now! I wish to speak to you- _privately.'_ Or perhaps not.

Desperately I cracked my brain for any excuses that could save me out of this situation. Going to the office of Mrs Cole was the last place where you wanted to be- she only invited children inside when she found them adoptive parents or when she wanted to crack their skulls open and dig out the last residue of whatever was left after the heavy blow from the lecture she'd usually send their way. And yes, I might've sneaked inside once but no one else from the oprhanage had seen her nest other than- yes, him.

Out of instinct, I glanced up towards the windows of the second floor, feeling the penetrating gaze of the boy that stood infront of the window from metres down already. Tom averted his eyes as I looked up, moving away from the window as fast as you could say flibberty jibbit. A source of victory grew into my stomach as I proudly averted my eyes back to the blonde gargoyle. Oh, almost forgot.

'Inside.' She hissed quickly through her teeth, glancing around the street if anyone saw her or the entire scene that had unfolded. Of course no one could see her shout at a child! She had her reputation to think of! Dropping my shoulders, I pushed past her inside of the cold building and walked to open the door to the nest she called her office.

The first thing I noticed when I walked inside was the musty smell of the place and the dim lightning due to darkening drapes that halfly hung above the windowsill. The empty bottles were scattered around the room like they were accessoirising the office, a nice touch I might add. Frowning at a large portrait of an old man with a shabby beard that hung behind the desk, I contemplated if that was her dead husband- only the date of the portait would've made Mrs Cole at least 105 years old to have been his wife. I snickered at the thought. Hearing voices nearing the office, I ceased my little amusement when the wooden door slammed behind me with a considerate amount of force.

'Mrs Cole, I-'

'Where were you?' she demanded, the beady little eyes in her vulture-like face narrowing with suspicion. 'And be warned- I will brook no evasions this time!' Her thin arms folded in fornt of her chest, the glower of her narrow eyes directed at me like that of the ancient roman god Jupiter at some poor wrongdoer he was just about to smite with a thunderbolt. All she was missing was the toga and the long white beard.

'Oh, me?' I said innocently. 'I was getting the bars of soap you told me to get. Don't you remember? I told you the day before yesterday that I would be buying them on sale- fifty per cent off on Saturdays.'

 _Keep it simple. Mrs Cole likes cheap. Don't say anything else. Just keep it simple and for God's sake, don't blink._

My matron's glower flickered. I waited, holding my breath. I had gambled on her nature: dear Mrs Cole was suspicious to the bone, but she also didn't actually care tuppence about how I spent my time, as long as it didn't threaten her expenses or costed the orphanges' supposedly 'good' name. If I had gotten myself shipped off she wouldn't have cared, if I had done it in a nice, inexpensive manner. I saw the suspicion gradually lift from her face, only to be replaced by her common expression of distate. 'Err… yes, now that you mention it I do recall something of the kind,' she said slowly.

 _Sweet Jezus_

'However, that doesn't explain why you were dropped off in a _police car_ in front of _my_ orphanage!' she retorted, using the last remains of power of her brains that were still present. 'And where exactly are those soap bars? I don't you see carrying them around? Did you loose them…' Her eyes grew icier as she imagined that I would've been robbed from soap- or probably have thrown them at the police as a form of rebellion. _Well blast._ I bit my lip. _You didn't think this through, did you know?_ Said a little annoying voice in the back of my head. _Maybe you're the one who needs a serious brain check-up._

'Well, I…' Desperately I wracked my brain for some legitimate reason why an eleven year old girl would be escorted home in a black and white Wolseley with two bobbies.

'Yes?'

'I…I was carrying the soap bars all the way back to the orphange,' I fibbed. 'And you know… they were quite heavy, and the policemen happend to see me struggling with the bag of…soap bars.' Why couldn't I have said I was getting potatoes for the kitchen maid? I was afraid she might see through the act and dispose of me right away- it was a real crime to be seen publicly inside of a policecar. I could've been asking gents on the streets for a little money for all she knew.

'And I know not to accept help from strangers, however these were men in duty for their country. So they offered to bring me back here, and I thought it would be okay since they were men in uniform and all… And so, they did. However, we were getting attacked by angry factory workers during the trip and well, we had to defend ourselves because I was getting glass splinters all over me! Look- I have the bruises to prove it,' Convincingly I lifted up my dress over my knees to show her te bruises I had made whilst running for my life.

'Oh dear,' Mrs Cole looked at the blood and dirt, tilting her head in an actual sign of believability. Dear Lord, she had actually swallowed it!

'Exactly,' I confirmed, nodding with empathy towards myself? I stopped and looked down with my interpretation of what would be seen as demure. 'I didn't think about retrieving the soap bars, they seemed quite livid. You know how those factory workers are-'

To my surprise, Mrs Cole actually agreed for once and nodded her head slowly, growing another expression of disgust. This time however, it had been directed towards the false wrongdoers. _Poor blokes._ 'Yes, those measly people always try to rob me from my pennies-' she spat.

Growing a tiny little smile, I was honestly proud of lying myself out of this whole shebang. 'My apologies for making a scene-, I could've been arrested for all you knew.'

Her mouth thinned. 'Patricia! Don't even joke about such a thing! It is unbecoming of a young lady.'

'Of course, I am sorry.'

Behind me, I heard the door crack open. Turning around, I looked at Martha who obviously had listened and knew that the danger of actual bloodshed had passed.

'Shuid ah bring her tae her room, Mrs Cole?' She suggested. 'Th' bairns ur a' asleep.'

Nodding, and frowning slighty, the matron finally allowed me to leave her clutches. I understood, sometimes it was difficult for me as well to understand Martha's wildy accent. Turning around, I followed the scotttish help out towards the corridor. Walking behind her, I let out a deep breath. Thank the lord for uncaring people.

* * *

As I was lying in my bed, I stared up at the moon that formed a beautiful crescent. I couldn't sleep, I had tried to sleep multiple times however Eric seemed to have nightmares again that kept me awake due to the neverending slapping off the wall between us. You could say the walls weren't exactly thick. I once tried to communicate with him by slapping the wall in response. He got scared and started yelling for the matron, saying his room was haunted. Since then I just let him interfere with my biorhythm, he was only eight years old after all. Eric Whalley was one of the HOC's, and even though us orphans hadn't had clues about what it felt like to have siblings, we HOC's had to stick together. And if that meant ignoring someone's cries during nightmares, i'd plug my fingers into my ears and act like they didn't even step foot onto this planet at all.

I listened to the rhythm in the walls. _Tap tap, slap. Tap, slap slap._ And so it continued everlessly. _Tap. Tap. Tap. Gdunk. Slap._

Frowning, I noticed the sudden error in the melodious free orchestra of 'Eric the hunchback and the airrats.'. Another slap of a door in the corridor shot me upright in my bed. My eyes reached the clock on my nightstand, something I had gotten from Martha because she didn't want me 'mistaking' 4 am for 7 am anymore. It wasn't even on the brink of dawn yet! Who in God's name had to make so much noise?

Deciding that I wouldn't get any answers on my own, I slipped into my shoes and slowly opened the door to peek out for any disalarming friolovities such as Martha's lover, whom I found out was called Dick Callister. I had imagined any name; like Eddard or John or even Finkle, but _Dick?_ The chances of Marta's lover being called Dick was as low as my chance of being crowned queen. Not so much.

In the corridor, a faint figure was standing with their back held towards me. I held my breath as I watched them looking down at something what seemed to be a shoebox. Frowning I edged closer past the walls, who would be out in the middle of the night to stare at a piece of carton? Coming closer, I recognised the head of dark hair like any other- What in the world was _he_ doing out here?

'Excuse me- Tom? Some people are trying to sleep, Including me… What are yo-' My eyes grew wider as the noirette turned around 90 degrees. My head tolled, I couldn't quite remember the last time I was this shocked out of my wits. First I noticed the bloodied knife he held in his hands…as my eyes travelled further down to the box on the floor, I finally understood why he had been hunched over a piece of cartboard. It was a dead rat. Reaching up to meet his gaze, I recoiled my steps slowly as his sinister stare bored into my soul.

'Hello _Patricia.'_

 **My dear Witches and Wizards,**

 **What a melodious night…**

 **Have you enjoyed 'Wands and Fireguns' so far?**

 **It's a very hot day today, thus I hope everyone is not melting away.**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique.**


	7. Chapter 7

I screamed. Out of all possibilities my brain couldn't quite comprehend what in fact had happend. Tom Riddle had murdered a _rat._ He had _murdered_ a _rat!_ That wasn't exactly your every day activity to be meddling yourself with- quite frankly not so much!

Before I could've even made a strategic move to flee the crimescene, the boy acted out quickly as he strode towards me with a heavy glower edged onto his face and covered my mouth with his hand as he forcefully pushed me against the wall.

'Be quiet!'

'Mmghhhnhgh.' I protested, frowning deeply as I smelled a strange aroma of something that infiltrated my nostrils at the moment. Was that... _blood?_ My eyes widened another couple inches, if that was entirely possible. 'Nghh!'

'If you don't stop screaming Walters, you'll be the one to follow next.' He spat venomously. His dark eyes were boring into mine as he stood against me, locking my legs to not flee or run away and going bonkers whilst screaming out for the matron's help. In the darkness of the hour, dark pools of depths were rowing a wild storm inside of the black irises- the insensity of his stare could made any grown man feel the least comfortable they had been before putting on their morning robes. However, as much as I have tried to deny the fact that I was, in fact, a girl. The situation nonetheless made my knees quiver, if it wasn't for the toxicating smell I was forced to inhale so brutally.

'You won't speak a single word about this- _ever_.' He hissed out the latter, painfully tightening his grip onto my shoulder. There was a slight twinge of fear coming along the way he spoke- desperate for me not to tell on him. And I knew, that when Tom Riddle didn't want them talking- he'd have them not talking for eternity. 'Do you understand? Or do I have to _demonstrate_ what happens to girls who don't do what they're told...'

'Mgh!' My eyes widened, shaking my head vigorously. I remembered all too well what he had done to Amy Benson and Dennis Bischop. I knew it was him- it just _had_ to be. There weren't a lot of eleven year old psychopaths, but in East End, nothing was ever too strange.

I waited for him, wondering what he was about to do next. The question probably raced through his mind as well as he let go of my shoulder with extreme care. 'That's right. Be a good _girl_ and go back to your room.' He bit out, dropping his hand as he carefully took a step backwards. He acted as if I was a wild animal from the amazon, ready to attack-

And perhaps he guessed that right.

I didn't even have words to describe whatever I was feeling- and I knew a thumbing lot of words for my social class. _Patsy think,_ I chided to myself. _He just murdered a bloody rat._ What do people usually do when someone got murdered or stabbed?

'...Mrs Cole!' I shrieked, yelling loud enough to have alerted at least the entire corridor. Frantically I wurmed past him, tyring to run away before he grabbed a hold of my wrist.

'Wrong choice.' he spat, trying to haul me off to god knows where. Squirming and trying to kick his legs, I decided to bite in his hand when he covered my mouth.

 _Oh I'll show him how animalistic I can be_

'Mrs Cole!' I cried out once again as Tom jerked his hand back as quickly as possible. I didn't have to imagine the distate on his face to understand he did _not_ appreciate that.

'Ouch!'

'Ng!'

'Let go!'

'Stop wriggling you...'

 _Slap!_

The noise echoed quite loudly in the dark, cold corridor. There were a few seconds of silence, then I heard Mr Cole's calm voice- calm in the way a volcano was calm before the eruption.

'Children? What in God's name are you both doing out here?'

Slowly, the elder woman approached from the other side of the corridor, pacing a stride with her morning robes flowing behind her as we so duly had interrupted her beauty sleep. I breathed out heavily- being worked out by the protesting and squirming against the maniac next to me, whom was acting as if he didn't just tried to... _How did he do that?_

'Mrs Cole.'

Clearing his throat, Tom Riddle worked an excusing smile onto his face as he regarded the woman with the knife held behind his back. My eyes jumped from one side to the other as kids started to leave their rooms- carefully stepping into the corridor with great measure. You never knew what was hiding out here, after all.

 _There! He had nowhere to hide anymore now..._

'I heard a strange noise, and it appeared Patsy had been sleepwalking- that's why I tried to...wake her up a bit.'

'He's lying!' I blurted out before realising that I had been found _with_ him in the corridor and I seemed to be equally suspicious in the eyes of our matron. Confirming my thoughts as Mrs Cole glowered down at me, she crossed her arms and narrowed her beady little eyes.

'Young lady you best tell the truth this instant or you'll both get a year's worth of cleaning duty.' She threatened, pointing her finger at me.

Someone must've found the rat as I heard a high pitched scream coming from behind me. It alarmed the others as well- as all the children darted towards the end of the corridor and went to look what all the hubbub was about.

'H-he's dead!'

Whispers broke out inside of the hallway as the face of our matron turned grim and the usual wrinkles accessorising her gaunt-like eyes became more prominent than ever as the vulcano seemed to have finally exploded. '... _Dead?'_

The tension dropped another hundred degrees as Emilie held the box with what was left of Billy Snobb's rat- which I had highly mixed feelings about. I didn't like him having pets- especially what belonged inside of a sewer. However, that it just had to be Billy's rat...

 _Are you in your right mind?_ I frowned at what battle my brains were having at the moment. _Tom just killed a defenceless animal, no matter how cruel the owner was._

'Oh, get that thing out of my face girl!' the blonde woman shrieked, holding her morning robe closer to herself. Emilie waivered her steps hestitantly, frowning as she wasn't really sure what to do with the body- I strangely felt like contacting tweedle dee and tweedle dum, proudly offering their first crimescene. However, as that sounded hilarious in my mind, in reality, I was facing the worst thing imaginable. Blamed for a crime you did not commit.

'Mrs-'

'No! I won't have _any_ of your sickening little antics anymore!' she spat, scaring half of the children that were watching her explode like a fine shaken champagne bottle.

'But I wasn't-'

'Twelve months of cleaning duty! And you may take your little friend with you-'

'We are not friends!' Tom and I argued in synchrone, shooting each daggers at each other as I perfectly knew how we weren't friends.

'Go back to bed! Everyone, there's nothing to see here.' Mrs Cole sneered. And as an obedient crowd of pigeons they all left to return to their rooms, shocked by the events of the night. Had only Billy lived on the second floor- he would've gone bonkers. Somehow I was grateful for being one of the more unfortunate souls.

'You'll get a notice when you may begin _scrubbing.'_ And with that, the gargoyle left me to my defences. 'Dead rats...'

Slowly, the door of my room creaked open, admitting a brilliant ray of light that cut through the darkness like a red hot knife through butter. It fell on Tom Riddle's face, which also was pretty much red hot, at least in the places where my hand had made contact with his cheek.

'You,' he narrowed his eyes mendaciously, his jaw taut, 'are either considerably dumb or have more morals than apparent at first sight.'

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. 'What is that supposed to mean, "more than apparent at first sight"?'

His threatening dark-coloured eyes fixed on my face again. 'It is supposed to mean more morals than one would expect from a girl who runs around the halls in her birthday suit!'

'Hey, I did _not_ run around the halls in my...whatever.' My inner feminist screamed at me. Why did he had to bring that up now? 'It is you, who decided to barge in like that and demand me to get dressed right infront of yours truly!'

'An idea I thought no sane individual would take seriously.'

'Well, I have, at least I'm not a psychopath that kills animals for having a go at it!'

He shook his head derisively, looking down at the knife in his hands. I almost had forgotten I was chatting with a murderer. Something seemed to spark in his dark eyes, and though his facial expression didn't really change, he somehow suddenly seemed...satisfied. Almost as if he had made up a victorious plan. Oh blast!

'You don't know the half of it,' He said. ' _Sleep well._ '

The next morning I was awakened by a vehement knock on the door. Before I either had the time to rub the sleep out of my eyes, much less call 'enter', the door was thrown open and a bucket clattered onto the stone floor, which on closer inspection revealed Martha to be holding a mop, trying to look as austere as possible as she let it lean against the wall. She did not a very good job of the latter as it stumbled multiple times.

'Thare! Yer mop 'n' bucket, water ye can gie fae 'th kitchens- ye kin stairt frae th' first fluir up tae th' second- understood?'

I blinked, sleepily- realising I was to clean the entire orphanage with no little than three hours of sleep last night.

'Urr ye alrigh'?' she asked.

Yawning rather superfluous, I groaned as I got reminded of the lack of food the fast few days. 'Martha. You don't happen to carry any breakfast with you, right?'

Offering a sad smile, the help shook her head regrettably. 'Ah fear nae. Orders o' th' matron, lassy.' Bending down, she grabbed the mop that had fallen onto the ground once again. 'Mibbie if y'er dane earlie- ah kin mend ye something?'

 _Well that sounded rather scrumptious_

'Git dressed, Patsy. It's time tae tackle th' floors.' She rushed out and I did as she had ordered. However, I dressed with even less care than usual. It was rather unnecessary really. It was a weekday, soon enough I would be exchanging my dress for a pair of second-hand school robes that were given to the salvation army- for all those too poor to pay for a pair of slacks.

I felt a slight tremor run through me at the thought of encountering _him_ again. Fear? No, it couldn't be fear. Perhaps I hadn't processed the events of last night to really be afraid of him.

I went downstairs and started filling up the water as been told. For a change, Mrs Cole was not in a sour mood over my new supposed 'triggers' of being mentally insane. Her mind was more pleasantly engaged. There was a visitor.

 _Oh I heard it alright._

'Look! Someone's coming!' a girl proclaimed outside in the corridor.

'What is he wearing?'

'Girls! Settle down, we've trained for this!' the voice of our lovely matron cleared through the hallway as she tried to ease the rising commotion. I snorted, grabbing the bucket out of the sink as I tried to not let it spill over the kitchen floor- our cook wouldn't appreciate it. They always had an act up when anyone visited- even if it was the postman.

I had dropped my hopes for getting adopted a long while ago, I didn't care anymore who wanted to have a piece of the tarte of Mrs Cole. Half of that pie was expired- meaning the HOC's.

'Oh come in Sir, what pleasure have we found upon us to have a visitor this early upon the day?' Meaning, we hadn't even had breakfast yet and who was he to dare keep us from it. I edged closer towards the door as I tried to get to open it single handedly- _Where was Tom when you needed him?_

'My apologies, Mrs Cole. I do seem to have a knack for rising early...' the voice of man louded as I got the doorknob to turn, opening the door as silently as possible.

As I stepped foot in the hallway- the visitor finally got to my eyesight as I noticed an elderly man, taking off his raincoat. 'You've received my letters, I presume?'

Something clicked in the way Mrs Cole stood a little straighter, nodding. 'Oh your letters, you're...Tom's relative?'

 _Splash!_

The bucket that had been filled with water now clattered onto the floor.

...Tom Riddle had _relatives!?_

 ** **My dear witches and wizards,****

 ** **Any idea who the visitor is? ;)****

 ** **It has been a while since I updated, but I can explain, wait a little before**** ** **you get those pitchforks out of the closets!****

 ** **Friday I'll be going on a 6 week vacation trip- which is planned, rest assured.****

 ** **Thus I had to simply finish this chapter to an extent, where I owed my readers to read something first for the beginning of their summer holidays.****

 ** **I'll try to find the time to write, I promise you that.****

 ** **I wish everyone a happy holidays,****

 ** **Yours truly,****

 ** **Lady Dominique.****


	8. Chapter 8

Mrs Cole shot her head at me in her usual hawk-like fashion, eyes bulging out at the mess I had made onto the former dry wooden floor. Holding my breath, I blinked as I regarded the old fellow at the entrance. He was _smiling._

 _Tom Riddle's possible relative is smiling at you- you should be running away like there's no tomorrow you dimwit!_

'Patricia!' the woman snapped, quickly excusing herself before the man as she looked up at him shamefully beneath her eyelashes. 'Do forgive me, Sir. Miss Walters doesn't really know how to act around strangers… she gets a bit nervous, don't you doll?'

I blinked. And blinked. Did she really just call me a _doll_? 'I- uh..I-' I stumbled for words, but none were coming to mind that would help me in a situation like… _this_!

'There, there. Quite alright now, please fetch yourself a mop and clean that up whilst I show this kind sir the way.' Said the matron with a very forced smile edged around her thin lips.

Could it perhaps be that I was still dreaming? However, If so, my mind couldn't even fathom these weird theories about relatives of pyschopaths and never in million years would Mrs Cole be in a dream that wasn't nightmare related. Alas, this was a nightmare. A very real one. I reached down to grab the empty bucket in an awestruck daze. And as I peeked at my matron who ushered the man past me, I would've sworn the purple robed, auburn haired man winked at me!

Whilst the matron tread onto the staircases with the visitor, some giggles erupted from behind a doorcloset on the right hand corridor. 'Did you hear her? _Patricia_ is scared of strangers. Ha- for the wellbeing off us all, that freak should be locked away somewhere.'

'I'd rather those coppers had brought her to the working house-' said a second voice very obnoxiously.

Gripping the handle of the bucket a little tighter, I shot my head towards the broomcloset and edged a few paces closer. Who did they think they were? I certainly did not see King George trespass- who wouldn't even go near the East End in his entire lifetime. Crossing the corner, I came face to face with Emma and Isabel, thick-headed enough to think they're royalty!

'And I'd rather you both shut your crackers before I ram this bucket against your snoot.' I spat, glaring at the duo that seemed to have taken notion I hadn't left yet.

Emma pressed her hand in her unexistent hip, narrowing her eyes as if to scare me. Ha! She can bloody well try!

'Go mop the floor. _Scag.'_ Isabel spoke first, giggling at her own insults.

'You're such a dip. C'mon Isabel- let's not waste our time with lame-brain over here.'

'No. This is not over yet.' She retorted, surprising Emma as she stepped closer to me and straightened her back as she spat: 'I dare you- Go on then you little twit.'

In the meantime my rational mind had run off to the north pole and probably wouldn't come back for the next half hour. Where was the principality of women standing with each other rather than against one another? To hell with principals and rationality- what I had done in that moment had no actual meaning nor did it help me in this situation.

'As you wish. But first- Let us make a bet.'

'-A bet? What are we betting on?' Emma piped up. 'We're all broke.'

'Oh- I've got something it's right…' feeling with my hand in the pocket of the gray dress I had been accustomed to wear, I reclaimed it and rolled up my middle finger as if it were a music box. '-Here!'

The much taller and broader girl, Isabel, didn't seem to appreciate that and pushed me hard. I told you- this was in no way a solid plan. I was outnumbered and these girls had the stamina and build of two fucking stallions! Had I not dropped that bucket- I wouldn't have been so stupid to slip over my own mistakes.

 _Crrck!_

I cried out, cursing loudly as I believed they even heard that crack onto Sylvia Pankhurst's couch. 'Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!'

'Hey! You!' Someone came running from the other end of the corridor, approaching the scene. I heard the footsteps nearing me, probably ready to kick me in the guts as well. I lay there, afraid to even look at the damage that had been done. 'Oh you like picking on the little ones, do you?'

I faintly recognised the voice- but didn't knew where I had heard it before. Stirring, I finally grasped onto the fact that I had been lying on something. Rolling to the other side, I craned my head to see I hadn't broken a bone… no, the wood of the mop had been slashed in two.

I blushed, quickly scrambling to my feet as I tried not to slip once again.

Emma and Isabel, both shocked from what had happened for a second looked at each other quickly before they just ran off as fast as their legs could hold them.

'Go to hell!' I called out after them, rubbing my behind a little as it were sore from breaking the wooden mop. Awkwardly, I bend down to reach for the bucket when the male had beat me to it and handed it to me.

'I could grab that myself, thank you very much.' I snapped quickly- whatever was it with men and their antics of helping any damsel in need? I didn't need such help nor did I ever need any of those unless it's savior had female parts beneath their trousers but that couldn't come forth quicker than the first train.

'You shouldn't insult people that are bigger than you.'

Ready to walk off, I snapped my head back at the man to make my last kiss off. 'I'm not little.'

He _chuckled_.

* * *

I had made a hasty work of cleaning up the water near the kitchens. After all, the cook Mirget was going to flip if she found her kitchen's doorstep to have turned into the pacific ocean in just a night's sleep. I was still indifferent about Tom being lifted already from his supposed punishment for killing a rat. It was him! The bloody son of a whore that couldn't even admit to his crimes!

 _Well, it's not like you have a great tendency on telling truths either, Pat._

'Go away!' I snapped at the irritating little voice in my head, who seemed to be excruciatingly right at the moment. Like I said, most definitely irritating.

Slamming the door shut of the kitchen, as if that were to exclude myself from my very own mind, I hoisted the full bucket over the stairs and to the first floor. I wasn't very good at shielding my steps as little heaps of water droplets had been gathered on the wood behind me, trailing my path. I found that Mrs Cole would like to have some present after what she's put me through- I didn't say I was going to do my chores well now, did I?

'It's common...'

'Is it?'

'Distant family members sometimes, tend to- come back when they're old enough to be sent to boarding school. You remember Jacie? She was sent away as well- Lucky one.' I recognised the boy's voice as he scoffed and I turned around the corner. My assumptions were confirmed as I walked in on Rikkard and Eric hunched over a game of chess made out of a cardboard that had probably been stolen somewhere.

'Patsy!' Eric's eyes brightened up as he took a notice of me, which startled his companion a little but he followed suitly to stare at me as well.

Rikkard nodded at me, gesturing to the game. 'Care to try? Eric let's me win the entire time.'

'I do not!' he protested, crossing his arms in a stubborn stance as he prowled his lip.

'You do! See, the kid's not as smart as he appears but...' Rikkard smirked a litttle, glancing at the board for a second. 'This. This is his forté.'

'What were you guys talking about?' I said rather bluntly, stinging the excitement to somewhat less exhuberant reactions from the two boys. If you are going to ask something, it's better not to beat around the bush.

'Being snoopy are we?' Rikkard furrowed his brows a little, propping up his hand to rest his chin onto.

I followed his mimicks, crossing my arms as I waited for an answer. 'I don't have all day. Need to clean this floor _before_ I grow a beard, please.'

'You can't grow a beard Patsy.' He recountered, clearly amused by me making such claims as he exchanged some looks with the hunchback that had been focused on making his next move with the queen it seemed.

'Checkmate!' Eric cheered as I seemed to have been distracting his opponent from winning the game. Rikkard snapped his head down at the board in startlement, looking at Eric's grinning face that spoke all words for him.

'He is good.' I nodded, smirking a little as I handled the wooden mop in my hand. Glancing behind me, I noticed the corridor to be quite deserted. Where had Mrs Cole run off to? Supposedly cackling in her office about the prospects of having thrown me out on the streets. I did drop a bucket of water infront of a visitor- every darn idiot with a set of hands could've done that better.

'Nevermind I'm not interested anymore.' I turned on my heel, putting down the bucket of water and dipped the mop rather messily into it- I had a feeling I wasn't going to help myself if I made a complaint about _child labour_ at the coppers. It's not like they even registered it.

'Oh! But Tom is leaving the orphanage to go to a boarding school in the country! I'd say that's interesting-' Eric had been shut up by Rikkard whom had covered the younger boy's mouth once more.

 _He is what!?_ I turned my attention at the duo, strangely connecting the cords. The relative was of course paying his intuiton, and Mrs Cole was more overjoyed than ever considering she had the chance of getting rid of that maniac. And that's why she didn't give him a proper punishment! She just had to blame someone else to make him seem innocent! _The gargoyle!_ She bloody used me to get rid of Tom Riddle...

'Yes... can you believe it?' he followed quietly, not wanting to spread the gossip as fast as you could say gobblydook.

As much as I would like to have said no, I _did_ see the man and witnessed Mrs Cole _somewhat_ being nice to me. But what was it to me? I wouldn't have anymore trouble from _him_ if he got shipped off to god knows where.

'This is good. Brilliant actually. Splendid!' I would've jumped into the air if it hadn't been for my dignity that I still very much cherished after losing it multiple times.

 _Thankyou Tartarus! Lock him up for good will you?_

'...Why is she smiling like that?' Eric inquired uneasily at his opponent. 'You know, I'm afraid of her sometimes.'

'You and me both, Pally.'

* * *

It had taken a while to clean the first floor- the second floor was just living hell in comparison. I hadn't noticed how dirty it was compared to the other levels. Dust everywhere, water stains on the walls and at least everywhere I cleaned, someone tried to walk over it all again to make it filthy once more. I also had successfully avoided Billy Stubbs, the boy whom wouldn't come out of his room because the diseased rat. I may have taken pity at some point- but the fact still remains that he is an absolute arse! Perhaps he should just become a sewer rat himself.

But it didn't matter- I wasn't afraid for Billy S _nobbs_ because I would be rid of the most evil child of them all... and I didn't even have to get my hands dirty for it. I guess this is what Karma felt like.

Although, It seemed as if my joy had been enough for the day when I had stumbled across my room and found the door to be open. And it wasn't unoccupied.

There, on the bed, I found myself staring at the purple robed fellow that had make several signals to me, alarming my brain that he was a deviant old man- or rather a whacky old nutter.

'I hope you don't mind I made myself comfortable,' he stood up at the sight of my little face, smiling at me once again.

'Who are you, exactly, and why are you here?' I gripped the mop a little tighter, holding it infront of me in a defensive stance. If he truly were related to Tom- I should be on my guard at all times. There was a grown man in my room for god's sake!

The auburn haired man spared a glance at the stick I held infront of me and chuckled whistfully. 'Oh beg my pardon, I am a professor. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'

I stared at him. Whatever words just flew out of his mouth was complete bumping gums. I began to realise now how hungry I had been the entire morning, whatever I had dined on yesterday evening had completely been erased from my system. Cutting the silence like a real orphan, my stomach made an agreeable noise as it growled widly at the 'professor'.

'That's a mouthful.' I commented.

'Perhaps you're right,' His eyes seemed to twinkle under a set of half-moon shaped spectacles as he gestured to the bed for me to sit down.

'Why are you here, professor?' I inquired, dropping the mop carelessly on the ground as I found myself walking over to sit down on the bed. The man looked odd- If anything this story was going to be more interesting than mice and dust.

'I am here to inform you about Hogwarts.' said the nutter once again.

I looked at him with a puzzled face. 'What the bloody hell is that?'

He regarded me with an amused experession about my most _colourful_ language as he voluntarily took the wooden chair from my desk and sat down. 'Hogwarts is a school.'

'A school of magic.'

 **My dear witches, wizards and gobblydooks,**

 **My the time flies!**

 **Patsy has finally met our favourite headmaster of the universe, Albus Dumbledore!**

 **I bet everyone guessed that one right ;)**

 **Do you have any idea where she'll end up?**

 **How do you suppose she'll react when she gets to go to Hogwarts, with Tom?**

 **You will all of course find out in the next chapter,**

 **I really appreciate everyone's support and comments always humble me very much.**

 **Yours truly,**

 **Lady Dominique.**

Scag: a word they used in the 30s for a very ugly woman.

Snoot: A nose.

Twit: Immature brat.

Lame-brain: a stupid or foolish person

Bumpings gums: Talking of nothing useful.

Copper: Policeman

Pally: Friend, chum, sometimes used sarcastically.

The kiss off: A final goodbye.


End file.
